


Cold Front Moving In, Chance of Vengeance

by hotchoco195



Series: Bad Weather [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, Definitely definitely non-con, F/M, Jim to the rescue, Kidnapping, M/M, Partnership, Sherlock/Jim bromance, the mafia, with hints of Sheriarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock manages, to no one's surprise, to piss off their new business partner. Her idea of payback pushes Jim to a whole new level of murderous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Front Moving In, Chance of Vengeance

Sherlock pulled on his gloves, the expensive suede clinging to his slender fingers. Jim nodded in approval.

“Very sharp, Sherly. Very pay up or die.”

The brunette smirked. “That’s the idea.”

“Are we ready Bastian?”

The blond hefted his gun over one shoulder. “All set.”

“Let’s go make some mobsters cry then, hmm?”

They walked out into the blistering cold, the wind scraping at their pink cheeks. Jim and Sherlock climbed into the back of the car while Sebastian took the driver’s seat, resting his weapons in easy reach under a blanket beside him.

“Seatbelts.”

“God Sebby, you fuss like an old woman!” Jim rolled his eyes.

“Seatbelt or we’re not going anywhere.”

Sherlock gave Jim a smug look as he did up his own buckle and the criminal huffed. He clicked his restraint in place and fluttered his lashes innocently.

“May we get on with the intimidating and highhanded dealing now?”

Sebastian hid a smile and pulled away from the house onto the one road that trailed through the woods. The white trees whipped past as Jim leaned his head against the back of the seat.

“Fancy some lunch Sherly? We could hit a cafe afterwards.”

“I’ve got a composition to finish.”

“Ooh, anything special?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

“You should have said something earlier, I would have left you to it.”

Sherlock’s lips quirked. “And let me miss all the fun?”

They hit the city outskirts and Jim fell quiet. Sherlock could see him building up his Moriarty walls, preparing for their meeting. Sherlock never bothered with any kind of act – he had nothing to hide and no weaknesses to exploit. He controlled his temper better than Jim, mostly because the Irishman was the only person capable of making him lose it in the first place.

Sebastian turned into a street of dark bars. Most wouldn’t open until later in the afternoon, but there were one or two with a few lights on. He parked in front of one of those and scanned the area methodically before letting either of them get out. The trio made their way inside in a tight group, Sebastian up front.

 

Normally Jim wouldn’t take risks as big as this, but he found the Russians responded better to verbal threats if they could see he meant it. Something to do with courage. They were waiting for him now, a group of four sitting at one of the tables with a few scattered sentries watching from the corners of the room. They were an assortment of characters: two older men with chunky gold watches and cigars, a youth that looked about twenty but was clad head-to-toe in Armani, and a woman of about thirty in a white dress with hair to match and dark red lips. She was pretty but nothing extraordinary above the neck, making up for it entirely with her trim curves below. As different as they looked, they all wore the same scrutinising face as Jim and Sherlock approached.

“ _Privetstviye_ ,” said one of the older men, “Won’t you take a seat?”

“Certainly,” Jim smiled amiably, “Sherlock?”

He folded his long figure into the chair as Jim settled himself and unbuttoned his coat. Sebastian positioned himself at their shoulders, hands on his belt casually, eyes hard.

“A drink?” the young man offered, lifting a bottle of vodka.

“Let’s just get straight to business, shall we?” Sherlock drawled.

“What’s the rush?” he snickered.

“We’re just anxious to see this arrangement put to bed.” Jim tapped a hand against his leg.

“Then we’ll get our introductions over with,” one of the older men said, “My name is Yefim. This is Dorofey, Maxim and Aglaya. Now tell us what you came to say.”

Jim started his smooth talk, outlining their deal. Sherlock was content to let him talk, focusing instead on the Russians. Maxim was young, cocky. He thought the other men were too old, that much was obvious. Sherlock had expected a more sexual interest between him and Aglaya, but he didn’t look at her once during Jim’s spiel.

The other two did though. He could tell they were trying not to but every so often their eyes would flick to her face and he’d catch something that might have been...fear? It was unexpected enough that he turned all his attention on the woman. She watched Jim disinterestedly and yet at times she raised a brow pointedly, still not turning her head. She had a cigarette in her hand but she didn’t smoke it, letting it burn down over the ashtray. She reminded him a lot of Irene, the same surety in her own power, the same sly look. She was the one in charge here.

 

Jim finished and sat back. “So?”

Dorofey gave another split-second look at Aglaya and laughed. “It is an insult.”

“It’s more than you deserve and you know it.”

“We have no need of your connections. Our organisation has been in place since the war.”

“But it’s well-known. The authorities watch you, they raid your warehouses and steal your trucks. I can give you people who move like shadows, people with unwavering loyalty.”

“We have no need of them.” He repeated.

“Fine. Good luck breaking into New London’s burgeoning market then. You know, speaking of that, I haven’t blown up a city in aaaaages. Sherlock, how would you feel about levelling Moscow?”

“It might be an improvement.”

Yefim’s eyes narrowed. “You could not pull it off. Our eyes are everywhere.”

“The British had eyes everywhere too.” Jim shrugged.

The Russians stirred unhappily. Their guards looked a little more watchful and Sebastian straightened in response, but Sherlock wasn’t worried. They were bluffing. They needed Jim and they’d take his help at his original price because they couldn’t tell if he was joking about Moscow or not. Sherlock knew that he wasn’t, could see the slight spark in Jim’s gaze that hinted he might actually prefer it if they said no. They might have to take another bombing job just to curb that impulse.

“Very well. We will move the goods through your people. 10% commission.”

“30% or nothing.”

Maxim clenched his jaw but Aglaya raised her hand and he stopped. She stubbed out her cigarette before answering.

“Done.”

“Excellent choice! I’ll run you off a list of contacts.” Jim made to stand.

“Wait,” she licked her lips, “It is customary to have a drink to seal the agreement.”

Sebastian shifted uncomfortably but Jim shrugged and sat. “Who am I to break tradition?”

 

Maxim poured them all a finger’s worth. Sherlock glared at his glass until Jim elbowed him. He rolled his eyes and sighed but sat up and took it.

“To partnerships.” Aglaya raised her vodka.

“And _sotrudnichestvo_.” Jim echoed, draining his glass.

Sherlock made a face but followed suit. No one seemed to notice, the men being occupied talking details with Jim, but as he set it down Aglaya chuckled and leaned over the table.

“You don’t like the _vodka_?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Ooh, that’s no fun. You Westerners will freeze out here without a little extra warmth in your veins.”

Her fingers trailed out and ran along his wrist where it lay on the edge of the table. She bit her lower lip.

“Of course, there are other ways to stay warm.”

He raised a brow. “Does your husband approve of that?”

The deduction didn’t even shake her. “I don’t know, do dead men approve of anything?”

He could feel Sebastian watching them closely so he leaned in as well, confident if she got nasty he could handle it.

“Do you always take such an interest in your business partners?”

“The handsome ones, yes.”

“Well unfortunately this is another thing I don’t do.”

“Why not?” she tilted her head, eyes flicking between him and Jim, “You’re not together, are you?”

“No.”

 “Then perhaps you’re just never found the right woman, hmm?”

Sherlock raked her with a withering gaze. “I assure you, if that is the case you wouldn’t be her.”

 

Her face contorted into an ugly scowl and he sat back, glancing at Jim. Moriarty nodded to indicate they were done.

“You’ll be hearing from us.” Jim said as he stood.

“We look forward to a profitable relationship.” Yefim shook his hand.

Sherlock glanced at Aglaya. Her eyes had narrowed but she composed herself enough to smile at Jim.

“Until next time, boys.”

They walked out with their heads up, Sebastian keeping an ear out for trouble. He bundled them back into the car hurriedly and pulled away, starting a long, circuitous route back to the countryside in case they were followed.

“Well that went better than expected.” Jim smiled.

“No it didn’t. You knew they’d cave.”

“But there was always a chance they’d take offence and try to kill us.” He said gleefully.

“Don’t sound so disappointed.”

“Aglaya seemed to like you.” He said pointedly.

“Hmm.”

Jim snuck a sidelong look at him and Sherlock could see the twist of jealousy in his smirk.

“You’re not going to take her up on it?”

Sherlock stretched a hand across the seat and touched the back of Jim’s glove lightly.

“You know I don’t have the slightest interest in that.”

“Of course. The work, always the work.” He muttered.

“But if I did, I wouldn’t waste my time on widowed Russian mob leaders – especially ones we’re currently in business with.”

Jim smiled, but it was small and sad. Sherlock knew he still wanted more but he’d never pushed since that first time and the two had established a good, safe routine of cuddles and bed-sharing that didn’t test Sherlock’s boundaries. Sometimes he looked at Jim and wished he could give the man what he wanted, but it was only a very vague thought.

*****

Sherlock finished his composition the next day, sweeping his bow through the final notes with a flourish. Someone behind him clapped and he turned to find Jim leaning in his bedroom doorway.

“Bravo, Sherly. It’s beautiful.”

“Think you could write an accompaniment?”

“Why would I mess with perfection?”

He set down his violin, closing the case. “Are you working on anything?”

“Just finished, actually. That bank job in Marrakesh.”

“Ah. Poison or tear gas?”

“Tear gas. We might have to send Sebby away for that thing in Milan,” Jim mused, “I just don’t have anyone else who could make the shot.”

“We’ll survive without him for a few days.”

“Naturally! We can have some you and me time.” He waggled his brows.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but smiled.

“Shall we go to the city for that lunch?”

“Sure. Let me put something on and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Take your time.” Jim bowed himself out.

Sherlock could hear him calling Sebastian as he threw on some extra layers. That was the worst thing about Russia really, the endless cold. He was used to English weather but it was still never so bad he needed gloves, a scarf and _two_ coats over his jacket.

He headed down to find Jim standing by the door in his own winter gear, Sebastian outside warming up the car.

“I thought we could do a little shopping.” Moriarty said.

“We need to replace that bookshelf you smashed last week.”

“Not to mention the books.”

Sherlock scowled. He was still bitter about that tantrum, actually. It had been sparked by a duplicitous CIA agent and a total fuck-up in Thailand, and ended with Jim almost ripping his study to pieces. Sherlock wouldn’t have minded so much if he hadn’t been trapped inside at the time.

Jim saw his frown and laughed, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Relax, poppet. No one got hurt, did they?”

“Apart from several lovely first editions and a Thai politician, no.”

“Well they’re both easily replaced.”

*****

Jim sat at the kitchen bench while Seb packed his guns for the flight to Milan, the bodyguard lecturing him with a stern face.

“And you’ll stay in the house?”

“Why would we need to leave? You’ve stocked the kitchen and the bar.”

“You get those stupid whims sometimes. Promise me you won’t take the car out.”

“Cross my heart!”

“You won’t go near the city.”

“Done.”

“And you’ll call at the first _hint_ of a problem.”

“I’ll make sure he does.” Sherlock walked in.

“That’s not as comforting as you think. You’re no more trustworthy than he is when you get a sudden need for slugs to experiment on, or new violin strings.”

“I swear Sebastian, we will both stay here and behave ourselves in your absence.”

“Hmmm. If you say so.”

 

But he’d only been gone a day before Jim flounced into Sherlock’s room and threw himself on the bed.

“Sherly, I’m so boooooooored.”

“Look for a new job.”

“There’s nothing there worth my time.”

“Think up your own then.”

Jim sighed. “I don’t want to. The most fun thing I can think of would be blowing up New London, just to see how much further I could destroy their morale.”

Sherlock pressed his lips together. He didn’t exactly love talking about that subject, which Jim knew. Judging by his too-innocent smile the criminal was well aware he was pissing Sherlock off. He sighed internally. If he didn’t find something to entertain Jim he’d either spend the whole day driving Sherlock mad, or get drunk and handsy, or have a tantrum and wreck something else.

“Fine. Let’s play together then.”

“I told you, that new song is a one-instrument piece.”

“We don’t have to play that specifically.”

“We’ve played everything else!”

“Then we’ll come up with something.”

“Booooooooooring!” Jim growled, half-falling off the edge of the bed.

“What do you suggest?”

“We could go out.”

“Sebastian said not to.”

“Who’s in charge here, us or him?”

“It would be stupidly reckless. This isn’t Old London. The streets are infinitely more dangerous.”

“Not for clever, careful people. Come on Sherly, we’ll play some billiards or go to an art gallery or something, anything!”

Sherlock didn’t want to admit it but going out sounded better than sitting here staring at sections of marchfly wings.

“I suppose there’s not much danger in a quick daytime jaunt.”

“Excellent! I’ll start the car, shall I?”

“Uh-uh. I’m driving.”

“Fine,” he pouted, “Let’s go.”

 

Sherlock headed for one of the nicer areas with the antique stores and museums, cathedral roofs towering above the houses. He parked by a garden that was frosted over in ice and jammed his hands in his pockets.

“Well?”

“Let’s go this way.” Jim jerked his head, already moving down the pavement.

Sherlock followed, head down to watch for black ice. Jim’s eyes darted everywhere, taking in the people they passed and winking at Sherlock whenever he noticed something he found amusing. Sherlock wasn’t much in the mood for observing dull pedestrians but he was glad to be out of the house amongst the noise of the city again. They turned towards a big square with an old Orthodox church at one end and Jim caught his sleeve.

“Let’s go in there.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “A church?”

“I’m Irish Catholic, darling. Religious iconography runs in my veins.”

He snorted. “I could just see you as a choir boy.”

But Jim was already dragging him towards the doors and Sherlock gave in with a sigh. The side entrance was open for daytime worshippers but the church was empty. Jim spun away to gaze up at the stained glass windows, running his hand above the rows of candles to feel their heat. Sherlock wasn’t particularly interested in the church itself, but there was an intricate spider web in one corner that belonged to a non-native species and he wandered over to take a closer look, theorising how it might have gotten there.

He quickly decided he wasn’t tall enough and dragged a foot stool over from the nearest pew to get the height he needed. He’d been peering at the web for only a moment when someone cleared their throat beside him. Sherlock looked over his shoulder at the priest watching him with a raised brow. He looked down at his feet on the stool and jerked his hands off the wall.

“Uh, sorry about that,” he climbed off the stool, “Spider web.”

“Ah, then it is understandable.” The priest bit back a grin.

Sherlock put the stool back sheepishly, smoothing out his coat as he stood. “Well. I’ll just get back to my friend-”

“Mr Moriarty is occupied.”

 

Sherlock froze, his nerves humming. He took a second glance at the priest, but he was just an ordinary clergyman, no old gang tattoos, no signs of gambling debt or combat experience.

“Occupied?” he repeated.

“He met a man praying in the side chapel, a man who desperately needs his help with a very big problem,” the priest said innocently, “So I imagine he will be distracted for at least ten minutes.”

“How did you know we were here? We didn’t plan it.”

“You are always watched in St Petersburg, Mr Holmes.”

He drew a gun from his cassock and Sherlock sighed.

“I see we’re done being civil.”

“It’s just a precaution. Outside, quietly if you please.”

Sherlock turned and walked back through the doors, conscious of any opportunity to get away. But even if he wasn’t a fighter the priest knew what he was doing; he never got close enough for Sherlock to attack or far enough for him to run. As they stepped into the square he was seized on both sides.

“ _Spasibo_ , Father.” A third man said, tossing the old man a fat envelope.

“Maxim. Wonderful to see you again.” Sherlock curled his lip.

“Get him in the car. The rest of you, take care of Moriarty.”

Two men headed into the church behind the priest and Sherlock considered yelling before a gun barrel pressed against his spine.

“I wouldn’t, Mr Holmes. There’s somebody who wants to see you.”

*****

Jim couldn’t be more delighted. He’d stumbled upon a thin, sobbing man with his hands clasped before the Cross, and since it was his Christian duty to help those in need they’d ended up sitting together on a bench while the man poured out his story. It was easy, a few unfortunate favours he owed to the Mob, but Jim delighted in the idea of secretly going up against his own allies.

“You leave it to me, honey. I’ll have someone take care of it.”

“Really? Oh thank you, thank you!”

“But then your favours will be owed to _me_.”

“Anything, anything you want.”

He was already thinking about who to send, ready to grab Sherlock and head home now he had a project. The click of the gun made him raise his brow.

“Naughty, naughty. In a house of God, no less.”

He moved faster than the assassin expected, arm shoving the gun aside so that the bullet went through the praying man’s skull instead. There were two of them, both in black, both young and fit but Jim had already drawn the knife from his sleeve and stabbed his first attacker, snatching his gun before turning it on the second. Something winged his shoulder and he growled, turning to find an old priest aiming a second shot at him. He fired right at the churchman’s collar and stood in the following silence, eyes open for a further ambush.

“Sherlock?”

There was no answer and Jim swore, turning back to the man he’d stabbed. He knelt on the man’s stomach, gun pressed to his throat.

“There’s an incredibly small chance you might live right now. Tell me where they’ve taken him and I’ll increase it.”

He shook his head shakily, face ashen. Jim leaned harder.

“At this point you don’t need to worry about betraying your employers - I know you’re from the Mafia. It’s written all over you honey. Just tell me where Sherlock is. Did you try to kill him too? Did they take him?”

The man said nothing and Jim sighed, squeezing the trigger. He stood and hurried from the church. There were no signs of a fight at the entrance, so odds were Sherlock had been captured. Jim wasn’t entirely sure why they’d take only him, but he knew he needed to get away before he could figure it out. He ran back to the car only to remember Sherlock had the keys. With a groan Jim broke the front window and let himself in, wrenching the wiring out so he could spark the ignition. As he pulled away from the kerb he dialled Sebastian’s number.

“Boss?”

“Get back here as fast as you can.”

“What happened?”

“The Mafia took Sherlock and tried to put a bullet in my head.”

There was silence for a minute.

“I’ll be on the next plane.”

“Forget that – charter a jet.”

 

The car circled the city a few times, which Sherlock found fairly amusing. They could have blindfolded him and he would still have known where they were – hell, he probably would have figured it out even if they’d drugged him - so taking the long way wasn’t that discreet. Eventually they stopped outside a large townhouse in a cramped, narrow street and Maxim climbed out. Sherlock’s escort opened the door and nudged him to the pavement. The young man herded them all inside, his voice and posture full of stress.

“Hurry up, idiots! She’s waiting.”

So this was Aglaya then. But was it a power play or a reaction to the 30% Jim had demanded? They headed straight upstairs, but not before he could note the tastefully simple furnishings of a lounge and dining area. He was marched into a room with huge windows facing the street, their curtains drawn. There was nothing else but a single chair bolted to the floorboards. A woman in a long black dress stood staring through a gap in the curtains, but she turned with a smile as they forced him to sit and cuffed his arms in place.

“Sherlock! Good to see you again.”

“If you wanted to talk you could have just called, Aglaya.”

“I prefer it this way. Here I can see your pretty face. Get out.”

The guards backed out. Maxim gave her a concerned look and she raised a brow threateningly. He ducked his head and followed, shutting the door behind him.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important?”

“I was admiring the architecture.”

“And what did you deduce?” she walked closer, the sound of her heels on the wood echoing in the empty room.

“The morals of the Church aren’t what they used to be.”

She laughed, voice light and whispery. “I think you’d be surprised how little’s changed, actually.”

Sherlock tilted his head to watch her as she stopped within arm’s length of him.

“Are you going to tell me why I’m here or do I have to guess?”

“You were very hurtful, Sherlock. I am not a woman people say no to.”

“Maybe they should. You’d learn to take it better.”

She slapped him, the impact too loud in the silence of the house.

“Don’t look now Aglaya; your wounded pride is showing.”

She clucked her tongue, leaning forward to stroke his cheek. “It is not my pride that’s the problem here, Mr Superiority Complex. The rest of us aren’t even people to you, are we?”

“Not people I care to waste my time on, no.”

“Well sadly you don’t always have a choice, Sherlock.”

 

He was already bored of this. “Look, you’re nowhere near clever enough to be original about this, so can we skip to the torture? I’ve got other things to do today.”

She looped her arms around his neck and sat astride him, Sherlock automatically stiffening.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting to the torture, darling. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

She licked her lips and pressed them against his neck, nipping lightly. Sherlock was stunned. This was the most ordinary type of violence, a scorned woman forcing herself on a man who hadn’t wanted her, and he felt thoroughly disappointed. But at the same time it _did_ unnerve him. It was involuntary intimacy and he hated people trying to connect with him, especially stupid people. If she kept going she would create a natural bodily reaction, enough to achieve her goal, and he would have to leave here knowing she had a part of him she didn’t deserve.

Not to mention the last person who’d tried to take him against his will had been Jim, and that was not a pleasant memory for either of them. He’d forgiven his counterpart because Moriarty hadn’t been in his right mind but Aglaya had no such excuse. Unless she was actually crazy, which was always possible.

“What you’re intending to do will have consequences you can’t begin to fathom.”

She laughed. “Good ones, I hope.”

He thought about Jim’s face when he discovered someone else had had Sherlock and the brutal murder that would surely follow.

“I don’t think you’ll enjoy them. Moran might, though.”

The way he said it seemed to rattle her a little because her face fell for a moment before she regained the malevolent smirk.

“Moriarty’s man won’t be coming for you. Your partner is dead.”

His phone buzzed under her hand and she recoiled.

“Looks like your boys didn’t do the whole job.”

Aglaya scowled at him and dug the phone out, checking the name. Sherlock felt a second of relief to see Jim had survived, though he’d never really doubted it. She flipped the phone over and cracked open the back, prying out the battery and tossing both parts over her shoulder.

“And now we are alone again.”

“How thrilling for you.”

*****

Jim had ways to find Sherlock but he needed his sniper. They had other operatives in St Petersburg but none he trusted as implicitly. Even if Sebastian could walk straight onto a flight as soon as Jim called, it would be three hours before he got back to the house, three hours Sherlock might not have. Jim turned his attention to getting as much information as possible while he waited, forming a plan they could put into action the second Sebastian walked in.

The kidnappers were Mafia, obviously. And it couldn’t have been about the deal because they’d tried to kill Jim rather than take them both – unless they were hoping to force Sherlock to rescind the agreement by killing his partner? But that seemed unlikely and a lot of effort for people who preferred to shoot first, ask questions later.

So they’d wanted the detective, and they’d wanted Jim unable to rescue him. Which implied they were planning to keep him awhile. Perhaps they wanted to use his brain for something. For that they’d have to know who he was, because Jim was always the talker at their meetings, and any information about Sherlock had been mostly destroyed in the London bombing.

Which left very few options.

If they thought they could use Sherlock to get to Jim’s money or power, they were desperately wrong. They might try it though, turning to torture to get passwords or bank accounts out of him. The thought made Jim rip a piece of paper into shreds.

The other, much, much worse alternative was almost too horrible to think about. Either way he needed to find Sherlock, fast. He ran a trace on his phone and found it instantly in a house in Navalochnaya.

“Sloppy, sloppy. But then their killers were laughably slow.”

He dialled the number, just in case Sherlock was in a position to pick up. The phone rang out and when he called back it went to voicemail. He checked the trace and found the signal was gone. It was an even bet whether the Russians would know Jim had found them, or whether they’d stay where they were. He decided to proceed as if they had. That left satellite, which was hilariously easy. The outside of the house was deserted but at least it gave Jim an idea of what they were up against. There was a single black car outside, a couple of storeys, plenty of rooms. It was problematic but nothing Seb couldn’t handle. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. There had to be a way to stall.

 

Aglaya teased her nails along his neck, breath falling hot on his ear. She stood and crossed to the door, an extra wiggle in her walk that made Sherlock want to snort and scowl at the same time. She locked the door and turned around.

“Now, shall we begin your lesson?”

“Please do – it can’t be any more boring than your conversation.”

She unzipped the top of her dress and let it fall to her waist.

“I stand corrected.” Sherlock drawled.

Aglaya smoothed it down over her hips and stepped out of the material, leaving it by the door. Sherlock knew she was empirically desirable but he felt nothing at the sight of her filling out the satin and lace lingerie. It was red and black, totally cliché but still somewhat striking against the platinum blonde of her hair. She sauntered over in her high stilettos and sat in his lap again.

“I apologise for the handcuffs but you cannot be trusted, Mr Holmes.”

“I’m fine with not touching, if it’s all the same to you.”

She slapped him again and Sherlock sighed loudly.

“Really, is this what comes of spoiling your children? You can’t bully you way through everyone, Aglaya.”

“We will see.” She grabbed the back of his head, smashing her mouth against his.

Sherlock didn’t kiss back – wouldn’t. He might have kept his lips glued together permanently if she hadn’t twisted his nipple through his shirt. Unable to hold back a gasp his lips parted and she darted in, choking him with her tongue. He shrank back as far as the chair allowed but Aglaya followed, her chest thrust against his.

They were interrupted by the soft ringing of a phone. Aglaya sat back with a frown, glancing at Sherlock’s mobile suspiciously. The ringing came from the door though, and with a frustrated growl she stood and hurried over to fish it out of her clothes.

“ _Chto_?” she snapped.

“Miss Aglaya! I have a bone or two to pick with you.”

She glanced at Sherlock guiltily for a second before drawing herself up, hand on her hip. “Mr Moriarty. How did you get this number?”

He ignored her. “Might I ask what possessed you to break our alliance the way you did today?”

Her smirk fell a bit. Sherlock watched intently as she shrugged.

“I had more important scores to settle.”

“More important than your smuggling?”

“A personal insult.” She said icily, glaring at Sherlock.

“Sherlock insults everyone, Aglaya. It’s part of his charm.”

“It is not the part that interests me.”

“We’re past cute little slaps on the wrist. You’ve got two minutes to send him to me or I will come for you both.”

“Good luck with that, comrade.”

“I blew up a whole city for him, Aglaya. You didn’t think I would tear down every house in St Petersburg to get him back?”

 

That made her stop. She bit her lip, looking Sherlock over thoughtfully. Evidently she saw something she disliked in his expression because her face hardened.

“I will send him back when I am done with him, Moriarty.”

Jim sighed. “That’s a shame.”

Her lips pricked up. “I can understand your concern. He is so delicate, so breakable. Perhaps you would feel better if you could keep an ear on him, yes?”

She switched the call to speakerphone and slid it onto the floor next to Sherlock’s chair.

“Can you hear us, darling?”

“Regrettably.” Jim muttered.

“Say hello, Sherlock.”

He glared at her and she wrenched his head to the side with a handful of curls. He bit back the answering hiss and still didn’t speak.

“Never mind. You will make enough noise in a minute to reassure dear Moriarty you are fine right where you are.”

Possibly spurred on by fear of Jim’s imminent reprisal Aglaya abandoned the soft teasing. She unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt, tugging it out of his waistband and pushing it aside until she could run her hands down his chest. Her nails dragged across his nipples and she chuckled.

“It is a shame your friend cannot see this.”

“He’s seen it before.” Sherlock said disinterestedly.

Aglaya’s eyes flashed. “Is that so?”

“The difference is, Aglaya, he didn’t have to tie me to a chair.”

He heard the stifled angry noise Jim made on the other end of the phone but Aglaya missed it, too busy slapping him again.

“This is getting to be a tiresome habit.”

She fumed up at him, unbuttoning his pants and yanking them down roughly. She scratched deep furrows down his thighs, her red nails a stark contrast to the ivory skin. Aglaya went for his underwear and Sherlock flinched despite himself.

“Don’t fret Sherlock, Aglaya’s going to take such good care of you.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” He pointedly looked away, ignoring her as she pulled the fabric off.

The Russian gave an exaggerated gasp. “Oh, it is criminal not to share _that_.”

She resettled herself and rested her feet on the crossbars, pulling at his lapels until his head was close enough to capture his lips in a bruising, violent mockery of a kiss. When she broke away he clucked his tongue.

“She’s got nothing on you, Jim.”

He laughed, tinny and loud through the speakers, but it was enough to buoy Sherlock’s spirits. Aglaya looked suitably pissed but so long as Sherlock knew Jim was nearby, and undoubtedly only waiting for Sebastian to collect him, he could get through this.

 

Aglaya scowled and bit his neck and he exhaled through his teeth sharply.

“Sherly, you remember that job in Sri Lanka?”

“The – ugh – the one with the bankers?”

“That’s the one. Remember how that client looked hanging by his ankles?”

“I know you wished you’d actually been there to see it.”

She wrapped her hand around his cock and Sherlock bit his lip, glowering at her. Aglaya laughed prettily.

“The anger, it is exciting my darling.”

“How do you think Aglaya would look hanging by her ankles?” Jim continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

She traced her fingertips along his shaft and Sherlock fought off a twitch.

“Better than she does now.”

The Russian took a firmer grip and started to stroke, licking her lips as she leaned in close enough to press their foreheads together. This was worse than Sherlock had imagined: not only was she invading his physical space but she was prying into his mind as well, watching for the smallest reaction.

“I’ve always wanted to see Sebastian work without a camera in the way.” He ground out.

“Oh you won’t be disappointed. I imagine once he’s done with her he’ll give us a good scolding for ignoring his orders too.”

“Seems like he might have had a point in retrospect.”

“Don’t admit he’s right though, honey. We’ll never hear the end of it.”

Aglaya gave her hand an extra twist and Sherlock was surprised enough to let out a gasp. Her touch was not in theory unpleasant but who she was and how she got him there killed any sexual interest he might have had – although sexual interest wasn’t really Sherlock’s area in the first place. She nipped at his neck as she stroked, honing in for one solid bite that he knew would bruise. She sat back to regard the mark with satisfaction before looking down at Sherlock’s only semi-erect member.

“It looks like he’s reluctant to play, Moriarty. Perhaps you need some extra stimulation.”

She licked her finger lasciviously, moaning like a porn star. Sherlock would have rolled his eyes if he hadn’t been so concerned with what she was planning. Aglaya tugged his hips forward to the edge of the chair and reached between his legs. The tip pressed against his entrance and Sherlock automatically froze, his mind assaulting him with memories of Jim’s own rough intrusions.

“Don’t.” He said instinctively, eyes wide,voice soft.

“Has Moriarty had you here?” she cooed, pushing forward teasingly.

“Aglaya!” Jim barked, “Sherly, Sherly are you listening? Do you remember when I had that tantrum and almost broke the piano and you stopped me? You grabbed me under the arms and refused to let go, even when I bit you.”

 

Jim clenched the phone tighter as Sherlock gave an involuntary gasp. He was going to wring Aglaya’s neck, and then every person she’d ever spoken to, and then every Mafia member in the city, and then maybe every priest. His phone beeped and he lifted it away from his ear to read the message.

_Just landed – SM_

Jim entered the address hurriedly and ran downstairs, scooping up a couple of Sebastian’s guns for himself before getting in the car and pushing the pedal right down. He tore over the snow-covered fields, Sherlock’s voice dropping to a moan. Jim was going to make Aglaya scream for every gorgeous sound she wrenched unwillingly from _his_ detective.

“Sherly? Do you remember the yacht?”

He didn’t answer. He must have been too distracted trying to keep himself together to follow Jim’s conversation as well – Moriarty knew Sherlock wouldn’t want to give Aglaya the smallest victory. He could tell how this would affect the other man, how it reminded him of being powerless. Except he hadn’t been then, had he? Sherlock had asked Jim to stop and he had. That wasn’t going to save him this time.

“I know you hated me then. I gave you good reason to. I never regretted it you know, but I am sorry I had to cause you so much grief. It would have been better if you could have seen then what working together would be like.”

“You-y-y-you were such an arse.”

Jim smiled, even if it was a shaky attempt at their usual banter. “Isn’t that what you love about me?”

There was no reply and he silently cursed Aglaya for picking the one thing Sherlock would hate most. He could have handled being groped or sucked or even forced to fuck her. Sherlock whimpered and Jim gripped the steering wheel tighter. He put the call on hold and dialled Sebastian.

“Boss, what’s going on?”

“Aglaya’s got Sherlock in a townhouse. She knows I’m alive, I’m assuming she doesn’t know where you are.”

“What’s our time window? Is she going to kill him?”

“No, but faster is better. I’ve got them on the other line.”

“How does it look?”

“Lots of rooms, potentially lots of guards but I doubt she wants much of an audience for what she’s doing. They might not have called in more men once she found out I was alive, so odds aren’t terrible.”

“Plan?”

“We go straight to the house. Go in, quiet kills, get Sherlock back, make her wish she’d married a miner in Siberia and never heard our names.”

 

Aglaya’s finger was rough, his dry walls creating too much friction. If she’d reached up for his prostate she might have had a better result but as it was the pain deflated what little arousal he’d had. Still she persisted, perhaps glad just to see him suffering.

“You never answered, sugar. Has Moriarty had this? I’m guessing not – you’re tight like a schoolgirl.”

“He knows better than to ask for it, and he certainly doesn’t take what’s not offered.” Sherlock spat out.

“Then he’s a fool, because you look so delicious with your cheeks flushed.”

She bit his chest and withdrew, Sherlock unable to suppress a sigh of relief. Aglaya squeezed his sac to the point of almost pain before taking his shaft again. Her hand moved quicker now, frantic. Her breathing had sped up too, and he ran a critical eye over her as his body complained about her invasion. She was getting too excited to keep tormenting him, her chest a deep pink and her nipples hard through the bra.

“Jim?”

“Yes Sherly?”

“Tell me about Carl Powers.”

“You already know that story, Sherlock. You were part of it.”

“Just tell it again.”

Jim launched into the tale of the school bully and his eczema, and Sherlock closed his eyes and imagined it. He imagined the bigger boy shoving Jim, hitting him, calling him names and laughing. He imagined the hours of research it must have taken for Jim to find the perfect solution, the determination for such a young teenager to decide he needed to eliminate the problem and find a smart way to do it. He imagined the thrill Jim felt as he put the poison into Carl’s cream, the breathless exhilaration of watching him seize in the water, his shoes tucked away safely under Jim’s bed.

Aglaya frowned as he hardened under her touch, oblivious to Jim since he wasn’t yelling insults or begging her to stop. She hadn’t really heard the story so she assumed the erection was for her benefit.

“There we go, that’s much friendlier.”

She stood and pushed her underwear off clumsily in her haste before climbing on top of Sherlock again. The chair made it a bit tricky but she spread his legs wide enough to balance them both before lifting herself up. Her hand guided him to her entrance and Sherlock’s eyes flew open in time to watch her gape as she sank down.

 

Jim heard Aglaya’s moan and knew exactly what had happened. He punched the dashboard in a fit of rage. He was close now, and he knew Sebastian would be almost in place. If the mob had seen he was on his way it might get difficult but Jim didn’t give a damn at this point – not when he could hear Aglaya groaning like a barn animal as she took what should have been his.

“Jim!”

“Sherlock?” He wrestled out calmly despite his fury.

“Tell me about the Game.”

“I knew our meeting would be inevitable. The more I spread my fingers through London, the more I kept running into you. I found out about the connection with Carl Powers and my interest was piqued. I tried to get as much information about you as possible, I had you followed, and the more I saw the more interested I became. You were like me, Sherly.”

“Oh, yes, yes go on.” Sherlock groaned.

“I wanted it to be special. I wanted something memorable, something that would grab your attention. I wanted you to be as desperate to meet me as I was to meet you.”

He pulled into the street and saw Sebastian’s hire car coming from the other direction. They both stopped outside the house and Jim slid two guns into his waistband before getting out, phone still to his ear as Sebastian approached with a rifle held tight and low against his leg.

“I knew it had to be a challenge so you wouldn’t get bored.” Jim motioned with his fingers and the sniper nodded, leading the way up the stairs. He tried the door carefully before taking out a silenced pistol and shooting through the lock, pushing it open.

“You could never bore me, Jim.”

Sebastian was moving like a ghost through the downstairs, snapping the guards’ necks as quickly as possible. Most of them weren’t expecting trouble or simply weren’t good enough to put up a fight. Seb exchanged a few punches with one before Jim raised his gun and shot the Russian.

“I liked your choice of the pool by the way. More symbolic than I’d expected but I guess it had the added bonus of being a place we both knew. Neutral territory, almost.”

They moved on to another room, Jim firing with quiet whistles as Sebastian brought the butt of his rifle down on a mobster’s head.

“More, Jim, more.”

“I set the time limits for the Yard’s benefit really. I knew you would figure most of the puzzles out quickly, but the extra stress of a deadline had the rest of them flapping about and being unhelpful and generally distancing themselves from you.”

Sebastian gave a nod to indicate the first floor was empty and Jim jerked his head towards the stairs.

“Tell me what you thought when you walked in.”

Jim smiled as he followed Seb, stepping carefully. “God how I wanted you then Sherly. Do you know how long it took me to pick the outfit I wore to our first rendezvous?”

Sherlock gave a small cry and Seb’s head snapped to the left. The sounds were audible for real now, Aglaya moaning and muttering to herself in Russian, Sherlock’s quieter groans. Jim dropped his voice so Aglaya wouldn’t hear the echo.

“When I walked in and you raised the gun, I wanted to push Johnny in the pool right then just so I could have you to myself.”

“Jim.”

They’d reached the upper level now, and Sebastian headed right to check for more guards. Jim had his gun up, watching the corridor to the left as he crept alone step by step.

“I would have tossed the Browning away and ripped off that stiffly pressed suit and taken you right on the tiles. I would have made you scream for me, Sherly.”

“Jiiiiiiiim!” Sherlock did scream then, the sound loud through the phone and the closed door.

Moriarty was breathless for a moment, oblivious to the look Sebastian shot him from the other end of the hall. Had Sherlock just managed to come from thinking about...Jim? Sherlock who never had a sexual thought about anyone? His heart fluttered in his chest wildly as he stared at the door between them.

 

Aglaya might have been deaf to the talking but she couldn’t miss that. She stopped, breasts heaving, hair stuck around her face with sweat. Her eyes were sort of unfocused but as she caught the waning blissful look on Sherlock’s face and realised what had happened her expression changed to a snarl.

“You arrogant little piece of shit!” she stood, grabbing her underwear and pulling it on roughly before slapping him again. She kept it up, backhanding him savagely as her other hand shook. She slammed her heel down on the phone and pointed at him.

“I will rip your tongue out of your head, you stubborn son of a bitch!”

The door swung open and Jim walked in, shooting her in the back of the leg. Aglaya screamed and toppled over.

“Hello Sherly.” He said, not even looking at the limp flesh still very much exposed between his legs.

“Jim,” he cocked a brow rakishly, “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

Sebastian was right behind Jim, but he at least drew up short when he saw the general nudity of the room. He looked away hurriedly, running over to drag Aglaya to her feet. Jim put his gun back in his waistband and took Sherlock’s chin in one hand. He tilted it, scowling at the hickey. His eyes flashed at Aglaya.

“You will be very sorry about that before I end your miserable life. Where is the key?”

She just smirked. Sherlock licked his lips.

“I believe one of the guards had it.”

“Well that’s inconvenient. Never mind.”

Jim moved behind him and knelt to unpick the lock, angered again by the chafed rings around Sherlock’s wrists. He wiggled the pick and the cuffs popped free. Sherlock immediately began rubbing his arms to get the kinks out, and Jim gathered his clothes off the floor before offering them.

“Thank you, Jim.” The detective said quietly.

“Anything for you, dear.” He said back with equal severity.

Sherlock nodded and started to dress, wincing at the ache when he lifted his legs. Jim turned to Aglaya with a cheerful smile, cuffs still in hand.

“Sebastian?”

The marksman spun her so Jim could snap them on. The mastermind retrieved her coat from where it had been left in the corner and draped it over her, buttoning the front to hide her lack of clothing. Once Sherlock was dressed Jim smiled.

“Let’s find somewhere less conspicuous, sweetheart.”

*****

They stole one of the Mob’s own cars, not wanting to use theirs within the city. Sebastian drove them to an empty safehouse on the other side of the bay. Sherlock and Jim sat in the back listening to Aglaya struggle in the trunk. The detective inched his hand across the seat into Jim’s and Moriarty held on tight, rubbing a soothing thumb over his wrist above the graze. When they pulled into the underground parking Sebastian scanned the lot first before pulling Aglaya tight against him. Jim led the way upstairs, unlocking the apartment and waving Sherlock in.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Now, would you like to watch Sebastian take care of Miss Aglaya?”

Sherlock blanched slightly as he looked at the blonde. “Not particularly. But I’ll listen.”

“Fair enough. Sebby?”

Aglaya squeaked angrily around her gag as Sebastian slung her over his shoulder with a grim face. He marched into the bedroom and kicked the door shut.

“Make sure you tape it so I can watch later!” he yelled, “Sit with me, Sherly.”

The apartment was mostly unfurnished but there was a couch, and Sherlock sat beside Jim and lowered his head to the other man’s shoulder. Jim stroked a hand through his curls softly, feeling the sweat still sticky around his ears and neck.

“I wish I had gotten to you sooner.”

“I know you had to wait.”

“Will you need a doctor?”

He shook his head. “There shouldn’t be that much damage. It’s just sore.”

Aglaya screamed in the other room and Jim smiled fondly, his hand still a comforting caress in Sherlock’s hair.

“Let me know if you want to finish her yourself.”

“Let Sebastian do it. He looked scandalised enough to make it messy.”

“He’s very protective of you. We both are.”

“You helped. I don’t know if you know that, but you did.”

Jim leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple, slow enough Sherlock could object to the touch if he felt overwhelmed.

“We don’t have to discuss it now Sherly, but one day I’d like to have a quiet conversation about you screaming my name.”

“Maybe it’s just that if there was anyone I wanted, it would be you.”

He moved on the couch until he could tip his head up and see Jim’s face.

“I know that’s something you’ve always been interested in, but-”

“I understand, Sherly. Being the one who makes you scream, even indirectly, that’s enough.”

Sherlock settled back against Jim and took solace in the solid feel of him as Aglaya screeched on the other side of the door.

“We’ll have to leave St Petersburg. The Mafia won’t take Aglaya’s death well and I’m not in the mood for a full-on war.”

“You said you were bored.” Sherlock smiled.

“I assure you, the politics of this will be worse. I’ll get our people to handle it. Anywhere you’d like to go?”

Sherlock looked at the window as Aglaya made a choking sound and Sebastian growled.

“Somewhere warm.”


End file.
